A Snake Betrayed
by phantomwing15
Summary: How quickly our lives can change. One moment you're on top of the world, leading the best team of thieves the world has never heard of. The next you're alone and lost, knowing that their deaths are on your hand. What do you do? Where do you go? How do you atone for your past sins and mistakes? This is the story of De Snaek the Shadesnake.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything official from the Elder Scrolls series. I own all unofficial original characters of my creation.

**Author's Note:** This is my first fanfiction story so please bear with me. I only got into the Elder Scrolls series around Oblivion and only got into the lore at Skyrim so forgive me if I make mistakes with the lore but I will do my best to stay accurate. This story is not about the Dragonborn but takes place during the same time and may sometimes intersect with the Dragonborn's quests.

-The reason the identity of the Dragonborn is not revealed in the first chapter is because when I originally wrote this I intended for the reviewers to be able to submit what they thought the details of the Dragonborn should be in this story. However after reading the rules of this website I realize that would be against policy so the Dragonborn's race, sex, style, etc. will be revealed in later chapters.

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**Legend's Luck**

One

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The wagon creaked as it's wheels bumbled down the cobblestone path. Despite it being midday the air was cold and biting. Of the four passengers in this cart only one was not a Nord.

De Snaek's Dunmer blood protested, threatened to freeze as he rode to Nocturnal-knew-where on this imperial prison wagon. How he wished they hadn't taken his cloak, but he didn't complain, didn't make a sound. He looked around the cart at his fellow captives. He didn't know any of them. To his left was a Nord woman with brown hair. Sitting across from him were two Nord men, both stocky, one with red hair, the other blonde. They all had sullen expressions on their faces. Each of them stared at their feet. De Snaek noted that they wore matching uniforms. He guessed they were the rebels he had heard about before he left Morrowind. The rumor was that Skyrim was locked in a brutal civil war: some Nords feuding with the Empire.

This was the whole reason De Snaek came to Skyrim. He had figured he wouldn't be noticed; figured the empire would be too caught up with the rebels to bother with a fugitive from Morrowind. Now, as he sat staring at his bound wrist, sharing the silence with his fellow captives in non-other than an Imperial prison wagon, he was sure he should have stayed in Morrowind.

ShiNeela had tried to warn him not to leave, after all. He shook his head. That Argonian had never been wrong. She had told him to stay, to hide out in familiar territory, but he knew he couldn't. Not after what had happened to his team, his family. More than the fact that he was wanted in Morrowind for something unspeakable, he had left because his team was gone. All of them dead. He just couldn't stay. The whole of Morrowind was a reminder of them and of a life he now wished to leave behind.

He shook his head again and sighed. Now it seemed that none of that mattered. He had let his guard down. Perhaps it was the northern cold, or the fact that he couldn't take his mind off of his team. Maybe he had simply lost his edge without them. Whatever the reason it had gotten him caught.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake…" De Snaek heard someone say from the wagon behind his, but he could make out no more than mumbles as the wind drowned out the ensuing conversation.

"I can't believe they captured Jarl Ulfric," the woman to his left finally spoke, still looking down, "we failed him."

The red haired Nord across from De Snaek looked up then with a scowl, "Those imperial bastards set us up," he growled, "like snakes without honor."

De Snaek caught his eyes. Recognized the fire burning within them. Their intensity matched his own after he and his team had too been set up. Framed for something they would never do. But that was the past.  
"Shut up back there." Yelled the Imperial soldier driving the wagon.

The redheaded Nord scowled at the back of the soldier's head then returned his gaze to his feet whispering, "snakes…" as he did so.

The woman looked at De Snaek. "And what of you dark elf? How did you get mixed up in all of this?"

He didn't answer. He didn't rightfully know. Wrong place wrong time. Bad luck. Nocturnal's fury. It didn't matter. Once the Imperials figured out who he was it would be straight to the chopping block, if they were not already headed there anyway.

"Fine, keep to yourself then." She said flatly, then added, "Dunmer," disdainfully.

It didn't bother De Snaek, nothing did at this point. The wagon was quiet for the rest of the trip but he could still hear murmurs from the wagon behind them.

After a while they reached a town. Apparently they were expected because all of the residents, it seemed, were standing in front of their homes watching as the wagons rode by. The townsmen shouted curses at the prisoners and against the Stormcloaks, which De Snaek guessed was the name of the rebel faction.

"Go inside the house." he heard a man tell a boy who protested but ultimately did as he was told.

Finally the wagons stopped and De Snaek saw that they were indeed at the chopping block. The executioner stood at the ready. He was large with defined muscles; no doubt a result of hefting his heavy axe for years. The axe's blade was as sharp as his one good eye.

So there would be no trial, thought De Snaek. This Jarl Ulfric -the Nord woman had spoken of- must be important to the rebels, possibly their leader if the imperials were skipping straight to the execution. It made sense. A swift and decisive end to the rebel's leader could mean the same for the entire resistance. Not the most honorable way to handle things, but it would probably prevent the most bloodshed in the long run. These were the tough decisions that soldiers had to make, De Snaek knew. Decisions that he himself had once had to make.

The prisoners were ushered out of their wagons and sorted into two lines. De Snaek stood at the back of his line. Two imperial soldiers addressed them from the front. One of them called off names from a list. After calling out two names there was a commotion to De Snaek's right.

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Yelled one of the prisoners that had ridden on the rear wagon. He then took off running and yelling, "You're not gonna kill me!" He couldn't have been more wrong. A single command from a nearby Imperial captain had an arrow zipping into the runner's back before he made it anywhere near freedom. One arrow was all it took.

Fool, thought De Snaek.

"Anyone else feel like running?" asked the captain, and she seemed to look De Snaek square in the eyes, daring him to run. He matched her stare, unwilling to give up an ounce of his dignity. After a moment, the officer's attention was taken by the soldier standing next to her who held the list for their line of prisoners.

"Captain what should we do, this one's not on the list?" he asked her, referring to the prisoner that stood in front of him.

De Snaek stopped listening then. His attention was back on the executioner, on the axe. So this is how it would end, he thought. Just like that. Even with his skills he could never escape so many soldiers. Not by himself. Not without his team.

The processing was over quickly with no one else trying to run, and De Snaek soon stood waiting with the rest of the prisoners for his turn at the block.

A General, Tullius was his name, addressed one of the more imposing prisoners who's mouth was bound by a cloth. This one was Ulfric.

"Some here in Helgen call you a hero," spoke the General, "but a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his King and usurp his throne." Ulfric could only grunt back.

So this Ulfric was a King slayer, thought De Snaek. And what was this power of the voice the General spoke of? No wonder they were foregoing trial. A man like Ulfric couldn't be trifled with. De Snaek may not have been a fan of the Empire, but he nodded his head in respect to this General Tullius. A less experienced general would have paraded Ulfric around the holds. Would have held and open court in the largest city in Skyrim before executing him. The blowback from that would have been horrendous and instant, if it even got that far. Under those circumstances Ulfric's rebels would have probably hatched a plan to free him before he was executed. But this way, General Tullius' way, left no room for any of that. He would be executed quietly, here in this small town. The word would slowly spread throughout the region, diminishing the resistance's morale as it did. It would be easy then for the empire to weed out the stragglers before another could assume leadership. Yes, this general knew his game well.

The General continued, "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

Then there was a roar in the distance. A wail unlike any that De Snaek had ever heard. And suddenly his adrenaline was pumping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He struggled to keep his breathing easy. His body was warmed as his heartbeat sped up, circulating his blood. His combat instincts had kicked in, and though the Imperial soldiers casually dismissed the roar, De Snaek stood at the ready.

The female captain told a nearby priestess to give the prisoners their last rights. The priestess then began some dribble about Aetherius and the eight divines, but was interrupted by the same redheaded Nord that had sat across from De Snaek in the wagon.  
"For the love of Talos shut up and lets get this over with." He growled as he walked over to the executioner.

"As you wish." Replied the priestess and she walked out of the way.

Then the fiery haired Nord was kneeling at the block. Speaking defiantly the whole time.

"My ancestors are smiling at me imperials. Can you say the same?" Those were his last words, and then his blood stained the executioner's axe. The captain kicked his body out of the way making room for the next.

"You imperial bastards!" yelled a rebel.

"Justice!" shouted a loyalist.

"Death to the Stormcloaks," put in the captain, matter-of-factly.

De Snaek gave a grunt, finally pulling his attention away from whatever had roared earlier, easing his tension a bit. "You Nords are a proud lot I'll give you that," he said to no one in particular.

A fair haired Nord to his right nodded at De Snaek's statement, "As fearless in death as he was in life." he said, in respectful lament to his lost comrade.

The Captain then called for the next prisoner. The one who, like De Snaek, had not been on the list.

Again came the roar. This time louder, closer. Again De Snaek had to steady his breathing. Again the fools around him ignored it.

"I said next prisoner!" commanded the Captain.

De Snaek didn't watch as this next prisoner walked to the block. His eyes were on the skies. Something was coming, he knew. But what? What manner of creatures did this northland harbor? He wondered. Then he found out.


End file.
